


14&15

by stelleappese



Series: 30 drabbles [8]
Category: Padmaavat (2018)
Genre: M/M, mostly low-key angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: “You have nothing to prove to me, Kafur.”“Maybe not to you, sire.” Malik murmurs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is historically inaccurate as fuck, so, uh. Sorry about that.

****The room is almost dark, but bright strips of light escape the drapes and shimmer on the floor around the throne. One of these strips falls almost precisely on the Sultan’s face, but instead of being enraged by it, Alauddin Khilji has simply closed his eyes and turned towards it.  
The Visirs are supposed to be talking to the Sultan, but, as it has been during the past three years, the Sultan doesn’t seem interested in their bickering.  
Not much has changed since the siege of Chittor, as far as Malik can see: the court is still full of intrigues, battles are still fought and won. But the Sultan has been quiet, lost in thought. And, as a consequence, like the moon when shielded from the sun, so has Malik.  
Those eight months, and the way the Sultan has treated him during the siege, have given Malik plenty to think about…  
“The Mongols haven’t forgotten the terrible defeat of last year,” one of the Visirs is saying, “They will have gathered a much bigger army. They will be merciless."   
"The Mongols have been defeated over and over again by the Sultan. There is no reason to think this time will be any different.” someone else says, but the hopeful look that follows, in the direction of a still uninterested Sultan, doesn’t exactly bode well.  
“I suppose your words mean you are volunteering to lead the campaign.” the first Visir says. Silence falls in the throne room.  
“I will go.” Malik says, suddenly.  
What comes next is an even deeper, stunned silence. Then a burst of laughter from the Visirs. Then, as the Sultan finally opens his eyes and turns to look at him, silence again.  
“Why?” the Sultan asks.  
“Because I am here to serve you.”  
The Sultan rises from the throne and walks up to Malik, frowning. “You have nothing to prove to me, Kafur.”  
“Maybe not to you, sire.” Malik murmurs.  
The Sultan looks at him for a long moment, then nods. “I suppose I have been unfair to you.” he says, “I should have given you the chance to find your place in my service.”  
“I will not disappoint you, sire.”  
The protests that rise from the Visirs are quickly smothered by a single look from the Sultan.  
“Very well,” he says, looking back at Malik. There was a time when Malik instantly knew what the Sultan was thinking, but now he can’t decipher what’s behind the look on his face.Malik makes sure to set off as soon as possible.   
He’s not nervous, he’s not scared. He fought for his Sultan before, when madness had taken over him. War doesn’t have any deeper meaning to him.  
But, as the sun hesitantly rises and paints Delhi orange and gold, he does feel strange.   
He was a Hindu, and now he’s not.  
He was a sex slave, and now he’s… something else.  
He wonders what the Malik Kafur that comes back from this battle will be.


	2. Chapter 2

The Malik Kafur that comes back from the raid is sunburned, proud, grinning of a satisfied grin Alauddin hasn’t seen on his face in a long, long time. He marches back to Delhi at the head of his army, at least four thousands of captured Mongols chained behind him.  
He looks, Alauddin thinks, like he’s exactly where he was always meant to be.  
And yet, where others would have grown arrogant from such a flawless victory, Malik kneels in front of his Sultan and looks at him with almost timid expectation.  
“Leave us,” Alauddin orders, and studies Malik’s face as the room methodically empties.  
There’s a scar, bright pink and still healing, under his right eye; an almost completely faded bruise on his jaw. That’s where Alauddin’s hands immediately go as soon as they’re alone: he softly touches the skin close to the scar, tugs at Malik’s collar to get a better look at the bruise.  
Malik doesn’t say anything. He just tilts his head a little to facilitate Alauddin’s inspection.  
“Is it true you fought Kopek in single combat?” Alauddin asks, undoing the buttons on Malik’s collar.  
“It is, sire.”  
“Why would you take such an unnecessary risk?”  
“So that my commanders had time to surround the Mongol army,"   
"You have always been brave. And reckless.” Alauddin murmurs.  
“So have you, my Sultan.” Malik answers.  
Alauddin looks at him. It isn’t like him to say something like that. He can be violent, vicious, even, but the way he spoke to his Sultan has always been very, very soft and gentle.  
“I have always served you at the best of my abilities,” Malik murmurs, “Whether you told me to or not. And if it is… not possible for you to do what needs to be done, then it is my duty to do it in your stead."   
"In my stead,” Alauddin repeats.  
“There has been a shadow over you, sire.” Malik says, a pleading look in his dark eyes. He opens his mouth to say something more, then think better of it and just gives Alauddin another look.  
Malik is right, of course.  
The world has been a dark place during the past three years. The people in his palace colorless ghosts. Chittor may have fallen, but Alauddin was defeated, and he had never suffered such a defeat in his entire life.  
But Malik, as he stands in front of him, nervous but standing straight… he’s not colorless. He’s not faded. He’s vibrant and luminous and alive.  
While Visirs and nobles plotted and schemed, the way Visirs and nobles always do, Malik was there, standing guard to his Sultan.  
Alauddin lifts a hand up and molds it to Malik’s cheek. Malik’s breath stutters. His eyes go wide.   
“You did good, Malik Kafur.” Alauddin says. And Malik smiles of a bright, almost childishly happy smile.


End file.
